Nice Guys
by ashehole
Summary: "Is that what you're looking for, Genya? Someone nice?" Genya isn't so sure anymore.


Genya slips out of the workshop quietly, trying to swallow down the disappointment that always seems to crawl up her throat when she goes to visit David. When he refuses to acknowledge her at all. Everyone else can see her except for him, and she has no idea how. Why. For what reason. Nobody can be as into their work as he is, nobody could be so blind. As always, she waits to see if she will feel a spark of anger, the final straw that will tell her to give up.

But she doesn't. She never does. That's part of why she likes David, because if it's not looks of wanting and lust being thrown at her, it's disgust and contempt. David treats her as he treats everyone else, except maybe he listens to her a little more.

Or so she hopes.

"Pathetic."

The word is harsh, practically spit at her in a rough tone. In a familiar voice.

Genya glances at Ivan from over her shoulder, a cascade of red hair tumbling over her shoulder. He's leaning against the wall down the hallway, his shoulder pressed into it, arms over his chest. He's an impressive force, Genya would give him that.

"Come again?" she asks sweetly, turning around to face him completely now.

Some people were afraid of Ivan, maybe even hated him. And they should, she'd grant them that. Not her, though. Ivan's the kind of guy she doesn't have problems with, if only because he hates all with the same amount of force.

Hates her.

He's like David in that way, not treating her any differently.

"The way you hover around him as if he's going to notice you. It's pathetic. Bad enough you're a servant, but then you have to act like that," he mutters.

She steels her spine as she takes a step toward him, then another. Her finger pokes into his broad chest, right about his heart.

He doesn't even look bothered by it, no. Just bored and mildly irritated.

"Are you following me, Ivan? Don't you have better things to do as the Darkling's favorite than to follow a _servant_ around?" She arches one fine eyebrow at him, finger still on his chest. She can feel his heartbeat, slow and steady.

Ivan straightens, glowering down at her as he looms.

But Genya has seen more terrifying things than a Heartrender being moody. Her shoulders thrust back, her chin raises, and she meets his gaze evenly. A small smile even plays at her lips. Whatever he wants from her, he's not about to get it.

"I was looking for you."

"Why?"

He looks uncomfortable for a second, and a spark of amusement runs through her. So he's not immune to human emotion. That's a surprise.

His scowl deepens, the skin between his eyebrows puckering somewhat. "The Darkling wants you," he snaps.

And she snaps too, to attention, to a sliver of fear that races through her. "Why didn't you say so?"

She begins to step past him, to see to their leader as quickly as she can.

But not before his large fingers wrap around her slender elbow, crushing her white sleeve into her skin. He is all fire and anger and crimson as the blood he's undoubtedly spilled against as he tugs her back. Her gaze drops to his hold on her before dragging them back up to his handsome face.

"Do you want to be the one to explain why I was late?" Genya questions, steadying the way her legs quiver a bit. He's close, enough for her to see all the imperfections in his face that she could fix easily, enough to feel a stab of irritation at his tousle of brown hair that could use her touch.

Her fingers twitch. She's not going to touch him, this brute of a man. This Grisha who wouldn't recognize her as one of his own, who calls her pathetic.

"I don't understand what you see in him."

"In David?"

Because that's the only person he could be talking about. The Darkling is easy. Handsome, powerful, just removed enough to make anyone pant after him. Feelings or not, Genya isn't exactly immune to the charms of the Darkling. If she could, if he allowed…

"Yes," Ivan answers.

Her lips part, but she finds she can't give him a suitable answer. Why does he want to know? What does it matter what she does with her free time? Why does he care enough to stop her like this?

He waits with as much patience as he can muster, she's sure.

"He's nice," is what comes out of Genya's mouth before she can take it back.

Ivan stills before throwing his head back and laughing. It echoes through the halls of the Little Palace, and to her shame, a blush crawls up her neck and settles on her cheeks. She attempts to wrench her arm from his grip, but it only tightens.

"Is that what you're looking for, Genya? Someone nice?"

Her mouth goes dry as his face inches closer to hers, his voice low, deep. It hits her in the gut and trickles down. She wants someone to treat her like a person, she realizes. For someone to not look at her and think she's just a pretty little doll to dress up and toss aside. To realize that she's so much more than that. David's as close as she can get, because he doesn't expect anything from her. He's _nice_.

Ivan is, decidedly, not nice. He's never been nice. He doesn't look it, doesn't act it.

"What are you looking for, Ivan? Someone you can bully?" She steps into his gravity, chest brushing against his. "You thinking of playing games with me, too? What does the doll look like undressed, I wonder."

She's not a plaything, even if the king thinks so. If everyone thinks so. And she's not afraid of Ivan.

"It's no fun when I have to bully someone," he hisses at her. "I like women who can give as good as they get."

Her lips pull back in something that is part grin and part growl. She's interested, Saints help her. The quaking in her legs, the tightness in her gut, the way her eyes keep drifting to his mouth and wondering when he's going to just kiss her already. _She's interested._

"Isn't that kind of pathetic then," she says sweetly, finally stepping out from under him. She flutters her lashes, and he lets her arm go. She takes a step back, and he follows. "Bullying girls to see how they'll respond to you."

His nostrils flare, and she laughs. "That's not what I meant."

"I want a nice boy, Ivan."

"You want someone who knows who you are," he counters.

And she stills now, her shoulders slumping for all of a second before she picks herself up again. But he sees it. Of course he sees it.

"I need to see the Darkling now."

"I know."

"You're not my type," she says before turning on her heel.

"You know where to find me when you're done lying to yourself."


End file.
